Brand New Day
by JDSampson
Summary: Written before I saw the outcome of the showdown in the crypt with Lucifer. This is my version.  Slash


Brand New Day

He could feel everything. The way he moved, what he touched, what he smelled and tasted and yet he had control over none of it. It was kind of like that half-awake moment where you're still dreaming but you know it. When it's a good dream, you beg yourself not to wake, not to break the spell. But when it's a nightmare. . .

Blood . Death. More destruction than any human being could imagine.

And then there was a crushing weight bearing down on him and oddly that was good. It was comfort. It was peace. It was a long ago memory and one he wanted to hang on to but he couldn't. . .

He couldn't hang on to anything these days and that, Sam figured, was how it felt when you lost your mind.

"It's okay, Sammy. It's all over. You're safe. I'm here. It's done." Dean ran his hand over Sam's forehead brushing away the locks of too long hair while confirming what he already knew was true. The fever had spiked again. For the next eight to ten hours, Sam would toss and turn and mumble and sometimes shout. He'd relive the events of last week as convulsions took hold of his body. When the fever broke, he and Dean would both be exhausted and then there would be ten hours of peace before it started again.

Five days of this and Dean wasn't sure how much more either one of them could take.

"Come on, Sammy. Enough of this, already. Time to come back." Dean slipped his arm under his brother's shoulders then levered him up enough to force some water into his mouth. Most of it dripped out and down the stained undershirt but a little made it in and that was better than nothing. The water was dosed with liquid Tylenol but the medicine did little to eradicate Sam's fever. Likely because it wasn't caused by a virus. It was more likely the byproduct of having Lucifer inside of him for sixteen days.

Sixteen days. Days were like months in Winchester time.

Struggling to maneuver Sam's unconscious body, Dean pulled off the dirty t-shirt then used the fabric to wipe away the sweat from Sam's chest. The younger Winchester was thinner than he'd been since his teenage years. The sharply defined muscled he'd acquired after Dean's decent into hell had faded to soft flesh and in spots you could see bone just under the skin.

"This is the last time," Dean ordered in a soft but firm voice. "You get through this round and when the fever breaks, you're done. You hear me. You shake this off and it's you and me again. Just like old times." He pulled the blanket up to Sam's chin. "I'll even let you pick the music. Once. First road trip is your choice but only if you promise no Bryan Adams. Okay?" He ran his hand over Sam's face and felt the fire emanating from his cheeks. "Seriously, bro. This is all I got left. One more time and I'm done. You hear me?"

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed then leaned forward until his forehead met with Sam's sweaty brow. "We beat the devil, god damn it. Now it's Miller Time, you know? We're supposed to be celebrating. We're -"

Years of training told Dean someone was standing behind him. Not long ago, he would have jumped, partially for protection and partially to hide his attachment to Sam. Neither was necessary here and now. He knew it was Esther standing behind him. He could smell the old lilac perfume she wore but more than that, he could feel her strength. Like Deana Winchester reborn in this tiny, grey-haired woman with bifocals that hung on a chain around her neck.

Dean sat up slowly then sucked in a breath to compose himself.

"The fever's back."

"Still a lot of will in that boy," she said, then Dean felt her thin fingers come down on his shoulders. "He's not going to give up." She leaned into him and it was like mom hugging her little boy all over again. Dean closed his eyes and allowed himself one moment of comfort, then he shrugged out of her embrace and got to his feet.

"Maybe we should do that cleansing ritual again. Just to make sure he's really free of . . . all of it."

"We've done all we can. Now it's up to Sam. He's gotta find his way back." Esther noticed the dirty t-shirt on the floor. She picked it up with a "tsk tsk" of her tongue. "Looks like you're doing some laundry today, including the clothes you've got on. I haven't seen you out of them in two days.'

A thin smile ghosted over Dean's lips. "You trying to get me naked? Shame on your Esther. What would Pastor Gideon say?"

She whipped him across the arm with the dirty t-shirt. "Take a shower and change your clothes. Then you put everything you're not wearing in the wash and when you're done that, Pastor's got a few chores for you to do. Earn your keep around here."

Dean's glance back at his brother was involuntary.

"I'll keep an eye on him. You need a break. Need to get those muscles working, get back a little of what you lost."

Lost? Dean was about to question her but the shirt snapped against his arm with more force this time. "Alright, alright. I'm going. But you let me know if he needs me, okay."

"Sam always needs you, sweetie. But he'll manage without you for a few hours. Now go."

Dean planned on a quick shower but once he got under the hot water it felt too good to stop. He stood directly under the stream letting it cascade down over his head and face and shoulders and chest and soon there were tears mixed with the droplets. Tears for mom and dad and Ellen and Jo and every innocent person who had given their life, willingly or not, for the cause. Tears for what Sammy had done in a moment of weakness. Tears for what he'd been forced to do in return. But it was over now. They'd won. Incredibly. A hollow victory at the moment with Sam caught in his fever coma and half the world decimated by the fight between the ultimate warriors for good and evil.

Dean shook it off. There was too much to be done. Pity party over, he soaped up, rinsed off then got out of the shower. The cool air on his wet skin made him shiver and for half a second his mind was filled with images of Sam convulsing on the ground.

No.

Dean forced the thought away with a human beat box version of "Back in Black" which he used to stay focused as he shaved and brushed his teeth. That done, he dressed in the cleanest clothes he had then grabbed up everything else he and Sam owned and carried them all down to the laundry room on the back porch.

From here he could see the expanse of dry, brown foliage that had until recently been a thriving vegetable garden. One more casualty of the war on evil.

Dean loaded the clothes into the washer, poured in the detergent then set it to run. The next stop was the kitchen. Pastor Gideon was sitting at the kitchen table with his bible, a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs.

"Chickens have started laying again. Tough suckers," he said by way of greeting.

Dean poured himself a cup of coffee then sat down across from the rugged holy man. "I'm sorry."

"Why? Did you scare the chickens?"

"In a way." He sipped the coffee and instantly his brain did a little dance. "Sam and I. We brought this on you."

Gideon snorted and tapped his bible. "That was bigger than the two of you boys. If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else. Been a long time coming, this fight." He tapped the bible again. "Now we do what we've always done after a tragedy. We pick ourselves up and we start over. That's your job today."

"Come again?" Dean swallowed down a quarter of the coffee in the mug.

"Gotta clear all the dead plants from the garden. Till the soil. Lay down fresh seeds. Get your hands dirty. "

"My hands? In the dirt?"

"Back to basics. It'll be good for your soul."

Not that his soul couldn't use all the help it could get, but Dean wasn't really interesting in gardening. Then again, how could he say no to the man who had taken them in when no one else would?

"I'll get to work." Dean began to stand but Pastor Gideon touched him on the arm.

"Breakfast first. Nothing like freshly laid eggs to start the day. That's what my mother always tells me."

"Back to basics," said Dean.

"It's it's how we move on," said Pastor Gideon.

Upstairs, Sam was screaming.

Three hours later Sam was convulsing. Esther whispered a prayer over him then stepped to the window which looked out over the backyard. Dean and her son were working the land. They had most of the dead material pulled and piled and Dean was putting his back into breaking up the dirt with a pitchfork. It was hard work but it was the most relaxed she'd either of them since this whole mess began. She couldn't see his expression from this distance but she could see it in his body, in the way he moved.

Working the land. It was the best thing for him right now and knowing that his brother was in pain wouldn't do either of them any good. She said another prayer, for Dean this time, then went to sit beside Sam. He was thrashing so wildly, he smacked her a couple of times but she didn't move. He needed to know that he wasn't alone. He needed to know that there were people who cared about him and forgave him for whatever role he'd played in the events of the last year.

"Handsome young man like you, ought to be married with kids and it'll happen. For both of you, I just know it. Dean, now he's going to be a real good father, don't you think? He's going to raise them up strong, just like he raised you. And he did raise you, I know it, so don't go saying otherwise."

Sam arched up off the bed and screamed like the devil himself was ripping out his insides.

Esther knew the devil was gone but she pulled out her rosary anyway then pressed it into Sam's palm. Instantly his fingers closed around the beads as if he knew there was a cure there.

"Now you. You're going to be one of those doting fathers. You're gonna spoil your kids rotten. Especially if you have a little girl. You're gonna dress her up in fancy clothes and bows and buy her every toy she asks for and then some because you have a lot to make up for, don't you?"

Sam screamed again and his hand shot out so the rosary came flying back at her. It was bloody. His palm was bloody. Sam sat up and his eyes were bleeding, too.

Dean would never admit it, but he was enjoying himself more than he had in a long time. The physical action was a big part of it and the fact that no thinking was needed. He could dig and hum and hum and dig and it was a nice little rhythm. And then there was Pastor Gideon outlining his plans for peas here and squash there and tomatoes for Esther to use in her famous spaghetti sauce. It was all so pedestrian and yet, it made him a part of something. Something good. Bringing life back to where there had been nothing but death an hour ago.

If only people could be resurrected so easily.

Then Esther was shouting to them from the upstairs window and every bit of joy fell away when he heard Sam scream.

"It was just like every other time until he started bleeding," said Esther, her calm demeanor slipping in the face of this new development.

"Sammy?" Dean sat down on the bed with one knee pulled up so he could face his brother without twisting. Sam was sitting upright, eyes staring but not seeing, blood still welling up and running down his face like tears. "What is this? Is this some kind of brain aneurism or something?"

"What's this?" Pastor Gideon drew Dean's attention. He was holding a bloody rosary in his hand.

"It's mine," said Esther. "I gave it to Sam for comfort. He was holding it in his palm and then. . . " She trailed off as if realizing where that thought was going and not wanting to go there.

Dean grabbed Sam's wrist then pulled open the fingers of his left hand. There was blood flowing from a round puncture mark at the center of the palm. "What the hell? Did he cut himself with it?"

"No." Pastor Gideon went around to the other side of the bed. He opened Sam's right hand to reveal the same bloody hole. "Stigmata."

"What?"

"Bleeding as Christ did for the atonement of the sins unceasingly committed in the world. It's a good thing, Dean."

"How the hell is this a good thing?" Dean went into the adjoining bathroom then returned with a towel and a wet wash cloth.

"It's a sign from God that he understands the sacrifices Sam has made. He is forgiven."

"Don't talk to me about God." Dean dropped to one knee on the bed then used the washcloth to clean the blood from Sam's face. "He could have stopped all of this long ago but he chose to ignore us. His children! He stood aside and watched us burn."

Esther laughed and it was so out of place that Dean thought she had lost her mind.

"I see now that I had it backwards. I told Sam I thought he'd be the doting father that would give his children everything they ever wanted. But it's you. You don't want them to have to struggle for anything."

"Of course not. What parent wants to see their kid fighting for every scrap?" He moved on to cleaning Sam's hands. Through it all, Sam remained stiff and silent and unseeing.

"The tomatoes you grow with your own hands are much tastier than those you buy in a store," said Pastor Gideon.

"Stow the Forest Gump crap. Life is not a box of chocolates. It's one long, miserable road and the only reason we're given a few moments of happiness is so you know what you're missing when they take it away. You of all people should know that."

Pastor Gideon's beautiful, innocent daughter had been taken from him by a demon who returned disguised as a profit. Dean had bought into it for awhile, they all had because they needed so much to believe. But like every other good thing Dean had encountered in the past few months, it turned out to be nothing but another step in the plan. The plan to wipe everything joyful and good off the planet. And they had nearly succeeded.

"Dean, what I know, is that my faith is stronger than ever. It's what got me through Dean," said Pastor Gideon. "And I learned to truly appreciate what I have because you never know when you might lose it."

"Got it. Noted. Now that I've been through an apocalypse, I really really appreciate gourmet coffee, Big Macs and dollar a minute lap dances."

"What about your brother?'

"What about my brother?" Dean snapped back.

"Think about what I've lost Dean and think about what you still have." Pastor Gideon took Esther by the hand then led her out of the room.

When they were gone, Dean turned back to Sam. "You're like some freaking Jack in the box. Come on. Lay down." He took Sam by the shoulders and firmly pushed him back on to the bed. Sam's eyes kept staring, up now, at the ceiling. "I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. I hope you can hear me." Dean used the washcloth to dab away a spot of blood under Sam's chin. "I love you, Sammy. I probably didn't say it to you often enough. Hell, you'd have thought I was crazy, or drunk but you know, don't you. You've always known that you're everything to me. And maybe that's stupid or sick or nuts or something but it's true. Everyone else in my life – I'd give them all up for you. I gave them all up for you."

And that was the honest truth. There wasn't a single person he'd trade for Sam. Not for Dad back or a lifetime with Lisa and Ben. No one ever made him feel the way Sam made him feel and that was why time without him had always been filled with booze and broads. Dean's drugs of choice.

He turned sideways on the bed then toed off his boots. He took off his shirt which was sweaty and smeared with dirt. Then he walked around to the other side of the bed and laid down beside his brother.

Sam's eyes were closed now and he was breathing easily. No shakes. No muttering. Dean put his hand on Sam's forehead. No fever.

Dean started to pull his hand back but he let it drop on Sam's chest and that was where it stayed as he fell asleep.

New Orleans

"Now this is fun."

"I miss you."

"So stay."

"Can't."

"Why? Because of Dad?"

"Because of me."

Hand trailed.

Bare skin.

A party outside.

Anything goes in New Orleans.

They kissed.

Sam agreed but not because he wanted to. Not because he felt it. He agreed for Dean.

# # #

Dean woke up with someone curled up tight around him. That was unusual. Not that he hadn't curled up with a hundred different women in his life, but he hardly ever woke up next to one. Sex was one thing. Sleeping with someone was something else all together.

He opened his eyes and after a few seconds his brain registered where he was. Pastor Gideon's house.

Sam!

Dean rolled and his elbow hit bone. Sam didn't notice. He simply rolled to his back and adjusted in his sleep. Real sleep. No fever induced coma. Dean sat up and looked around to get his bearings. The bloody towel was gone from the nightstand and there was a fresh pitcher of water and a clean glass.

Esther had come in while they were sleeping.

It was Dean's turn to feel a warm flush.

"Dean?"

Sam's eyes were open.

"Hey. Long time no see, brother."

Sam reached up and snagged his fingers in Dean's t-shirt. "I. . . I don't. . " He pulled weakly so Dean laid down on his side, head propped up on his hand.

"It's okay, Sam. It's all over."

"The party?"

"Um. . uh? Okay."

Sam rolled to his side so he was facing Dean, barely a foot of space between them. He lifted his hand then stroked it over Dean's hair and down the back and along his chin.

Dean caught the hand and moved it to the neutral space between them. "What's. . . what are you. . " It was Dean's turn to stumble.

"I don't know what to do now."

"Nothing to think about. It's over and we go back to our old lives."

"No. I don't want to. Don't you see? Everything's different now." Sam pitched forward like he was going to plant a kiss on Dean but Dean got his hands up between them and pushed him back.

"It's okay, Sammy. It's all good."

"No." Sam fell back flat on to the bed. "I had it all figured out and then this happens and now what am I supposed to do? Forget everything? Tell dad I want to come home?"

"Dad?' Dean sat up. "Sammy, dad's gone."

"Good. I can't. . . " His eyes blinked closed then open. "I can't deal with him. Don't want to." Again his eyes closed and it took a second for them to reopen. "Why did you do this now?" Eyes closed for the final time then his breathing fell into a regular pattern indicating that he was sound asleep.

What the hell?

Dean got up and went to the bathroom. He used the toilet, washed his face then stood there staring at his own reflection in the mirror. Everything Sam had said. Everything he had done. It felt so familiar. Obviously he was confused. Talking in his sleep, probably but. . .

"Oh shit!"

New Orleans. But it couldn't be. With twenty-five years of memories behind him, that was the one place, the one time that he shouldn't have been able to remember. And maybe that was why it was the only thing he could go back to. The one piece in his brain that remained untouched by Lucifer.

No. It couldn't be. It was a coincidence. Nothing but the remnants of a fevered dream.

Dean's stomach growled and he realized that he could smell the aroma of something meaty and fatty. It was coming up through the heating duct from the kitchen which was right below the bedroom. With nothing in his stomach but eggs and coffee, Dean decided that food was more important than watching Sam sleep. Barefoot and without a clean over shirt to put on, Dean headed downstairs.

Esther was in the kitchen draining potatoes from a pot.

"There you are," she said cheerfully when she spotted Dean. "That was a nice, long nap you took. Bet it did you a world of good."

Admittedly, he did feel more refreshed despite his empty stomach. "I don't know what happened. I just closed my eyes for a minute and the next thing you know. . . " He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Geez. I didn't realize it was so late." Then his stomach growled loudly to prove the point.

"Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. I hope you like meatloaf."

"Love meatloaf."

"Can I impose upon you to give me a hand?" She handed him a potato masher. "How's Sam doing?" She went to the fridge for butter and milk then added a little of each to the potatoes. "I checked in on you both a couple of hours ago. I didn't see any more blood and you were both sleeping so peacefully I didn't see any reason not to start dinner."

Dean laughed under his breath, yeah, because bleeding from the eyes and palms was such an everyday occurrence. Of course, in the light of the recent apocalypse, it wasn't all that odd. "He's doing really well." He put some muscle into the mashing. "No fever and he talked to me for a little bit but I think he was talking in his sleep, so maybe that doesn't count."

"If he wasn't screaming, it counts.' Esther gave Dean's back a rub as she passed behind him. "I've been so worried about both you boys but it looks now like my prayers have been answered. Oh, and I finished the laundry so you can change into clean clothes for dinner." She opened the oven and peered inside. "Could you take that out for me?"

Dean grabbed two potholders from the hook on the wall then carefully pulled the glistening, splattering meatloaf out of the oven. The smell was incredible. Onion. Garlic. Perfectly cooked beef. It was home cooking like he'd only ever had in a diner.

"Not fancy, I'm afraid," she said, apparently misinterpreting the look on his face.

"It's exactly what I'm craving. Seriously. Thank you, Esther, for everything you and Pastor Gideon have done. I don't know how I would have got through this past week without you both."

"It's been our pleasure to have you." She gave Dean's arm a pat. "And you're welcome here as long as you need. We're in no hurry to be on our own again." She turned her face away but he saw the darkness overtake her before she did. Esther had lost her granddaughter and a dozen close friends and neighbors and yet here she was, like Donna Reed, making a homey dinner for the two people who had caused it all.

Dean put down the pot holders then stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. He wasn't as good at this comforting thing as she was, but he owed her a good try.

"Whatever we did, Sam and me. We always did it for the right reason. We always did what we thought was best for the world."

"I know that, honey and I don't blame you one little bit for what happened to Leah. Not one little bit." She pulled a tissue from her pocket, dabbed at her eyes and then turned back to face him, all cheery smiles and stoic. "Those potatoes aren't going to mash themselves.'

"I'm on it." Dean went back to the task while Esther turned her attention to the green beans.

"As soon as you think Sam's up to it, I'd like to get the sheets changed on that bed. Maybe you could get him into the shower. A clean body and clean sheets always make me feel better."

Shower.

Sam had squawked over the temperature of the water but that's how it was in cheap hotels. Low water pressure, never hot enough and towels that took off a layer of skin when you used them to dry off. Dean could still see him standing there, wet hair in his eyes, shy grin on his face, no longer the boy who had gone off to college two years earlier. Now he was a man and it made Dean's heart ache to know it might be another two years before they'd see each other again.

"Put it in that bowl right there."

Bowl? Dean snapped back to the present. He looked around and spotted the blue-trimmed serving bowl. Ah. For the potatoes.

". . . make a plate for Sam. If you think he'll be well enough to eat."

"Yeah, um. He might be, when he wakes up. Look, um. I'm going to go check on him if you're okay here."

"I'm good," Esther said as she counted out silverware from a drawer. "Your clean clothes are in a basket on the step. Take them up when you go."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Such a good boy. Your mama would have been proud."

Oh yeah, real proud to know that her eldest son had screwed her younger son, then messed with his mind to make him forget it. Yeah, Dean Winchester, you're every mother's dream.

Sam was sitting up in bed unsuccessfully trying to pour water from a pitcher into a glass. His hands were shaking so the water was slopping everywhere but where it was supposed to go and Sam was barely containing his frustration.

"Hey, hey," Dean said as he rushed to his brother's aid. "Let me do that."

"Thirsty," said Sam.

"I'll bet." Dean took the pitcher then held Sam's hand firmly around the glass while he filled it. It took a little more guidance to get the glass to Sam's lips and the water down his throat.

"More," Sam said while still gulping the last of it.

"Let's give it a minute." Dean took the glass away then knelt down on the floor at his brother's feet. "This is good. Sitting up, talking, it's all good."

"No." Sam shook his head, eyes cast downward. "I did something bad. I did something really, really bad, didn't I?"

"It wasn't you. It wasn't your fault." Dean grabbed Sam's trembling hands and stilled them in his lap. "It doesn't matter now, anyway. It's all over. We beat the devil, Sam. We did it."

Sam lifted his head enough to meet Dean's eyes but it was clear he wasn't convinced. "I feel like I've been sleeping for a long time, like years. Like I've been stuck in a bad dream." He tried to stand but his knees wouldn't hold and he fell back down to sitting.

"Let's have some more water." Dean filled the glass again then held it to Sam's lips. He drank slower this time and less of it ended up on his shirt.

_I won't leave you a drooling mess when I'm done wearing you!_

"Sammy." Dean cupped his brother's face with his free hand. "You're going to be your old self again. You just need some rest and good food. Esther, she's a great cook. She's making meatloaf and I'll bring you up a big slice."

"Esther?"

"Oh, yeah. You don't know her. I mean, she's been taking care of you but . . . .this is her house. Her son is Pastor Gideon, remember?. They're good people. They did a lot to. . . help. . . me." And that was all he was willing to say about the horrible ordeal that had been the past few weeks. Dean stood, then took the glass from Sam and set it on the bedside table.

"Where are we?" Sam asked.

"South Dakota."

"I thought we were in New Orleans."

Damn.

"No. No New Orleans, but don't I wish." Dean pushed Sam to lie back down. "Mardi Gras, booze, girls flashing their goodies for a handful of beads."

"Don't do that." Sam knotted his fingers in Dean's shirt nearly pulling him down on top of him as he laid back.

"Don't do what?"

"Hide. Pretend. We don't do that. You and me. That was the deal. No more secrets."

It rang in Dean's ears as if it was yesterday. Sam pushing Dean for the truth about the trip. Urging Dean to spill his feelings and he had. . spilled his feelings, his guts, his every waking thought and it felt good. . . until it felt bad. The guilt had come later. After he'd realized the full ramifications of what he'd done. What he'd pushed Sam into agreeing to. How could he have thought Sam would just turn around and go back to Stanford after that?

And so, like every other time Dean Winchester had done something even a little bit selfish in his life, he had turned it around and made it right for Sammy. The last of the Lucky Charms, the choice of what movie they watched on TV, the chance at a life – a real life, without ghosts and monsters. Without dad. Without Dean.

Dean had changed his mind four times before making the deal. In worldly goods, it cost him $100 bucks, an American Indian ceremonial knife and a bucket of lies during a quick screw. But what it really cost him was Sam.

"I'll get you some food. Then, when you're feeling stronger we'll get you cleaned up, okay?" Dean pulled back gently until Sam's fingers unknotted and let go. "You need a shave and a shower, big time." Dean forced a smile but Sam didn't smile back. "It's going to be okay."

"You keep saying that."

"Do I?"

"It's like maybe you're not sure."

"I am sure."

Dean was back in the kitchen before he realized that he hadn't changed his clothes.

Sam ate about half of what was put in front of him but it wasn't easy. Out of nowhere he'd be stricken with the shakes and the food would fly off the fork and on to the bed and his clothes. There were moments where Dean worried about permanent damage, as if Lucifer had shorted out sections of Sam's brain. It made sense. Particularly at the start when Sam was still battling to keep control.

"Dad's dead?" That question came after a particularly frustrating attempt to stab the last green bean on the plate.

"Yeah." Dean covered Sam's hand with his own then steadied and guided him through the process. "After the accident—"

"He died for you."

That caught Dean off guard. "Yeah." Was all he could manage around the lump that instantly formed in his throat.

"I think he was afraid of me."

"He was afraid _for_ you," Dean countered. "He just wasn't good about showing his feelings."

Sam turned to look Dean in the eye on that and it was almost like a challenge. "You're the one who's always taken care of me. Been there for me. I do remember that."

Dean huffed out a small breath, then took the plate from Sam and rolled off his side of the bed. "Good thing you don't remember the Nair shampoo or the clown I hired for your tenth birthday." He went around to the other side of the bed and grabbed Sam by the arm. "Come on. Shower time."

Sam got to his feet. The first few steps were shaky but he was moving without help by the time he reached the small bathroom. Right behind him, Dean flipped on the light. The harsh fluorescent bounced off the single, over-the-sink mirror drawing Sam's attention.

The younger Winchester stared at himself in the mirror as if he was trying to figure out whose reflection he was seeing.

Dean stepped around him, reached into the shower then turned on the water. Next he plugged in his shaver which he laid on the counter near Sam's hand, then went back into travel kit for toothpaste and a toothbrush.

"Why don't you sit down on the toilet and I'll shave you. Your hands are shaky and –"

"I'm not five years old," Sam snapped. "I think I can manage to clean myself up without your help."

Dean was taken aback but he tried not to let it show. This was quite a turnaround from the huggy, touchy Sam from earlier. Just more of the fragmented mind showing through. "Okay. Fine. Do it yourself."

Defiance in his eyes, Sam yanked off his t-shirt and then dropped his boxers. His chest was covered with purplish bruises and twisted lines that looked like symbols once carved into the flesh and now scabbing over.

Sam followed Dean's gaze and looked down at himself. Instead of shock, there was a kind of dull acceptance. "I know you just want to make it better," Sam said softly, then he looked up and met Dean's eyes. "You're still my big brother."

Dean's throat closed up as their conversation in the panic room replayed in his ears. He had given up on Sam but Sam hadn't given up on him. And then there were those few days of upswing before it blindsided both of them and it all went to hell – or rather hell came to them.

"Just be careful. I don't want you to pitch over and smack your head on the tub or something. . . "

Sam nodded then slowly stepped into the shower.

It was a high, old-fashioned tub and it was all Dean could do to keep from steadying Sam from behind. Just a little guidance at the elbow or a hand at the back. But no. He had to trust Sam again. Had to give him his space. Give him permission to fall down on his own and get himself back up.

If he had done that earlier, like back when Sam was a young teen, maybe it would have all gone differently.

With Sam safely in the shower, Dean turned to his own reflection. "Yikes." He too needed a shave and haircut but first and foremost, some clean clothes. He stripped out of his shirt and jeans then did a quick once over with a washcloth and a bar of soap. Handfuls of warm water over his face and hair was more thrilling than it should have been but wasn't that always the way with simple pleasures. A hot cup of coffee, clean sheets, popcorn and an old movie with his best friend and brother.

That was next on the list. They'd find a movie theater that hadn't been decimated by the war between good and evil and they'd stay for every film on the bill. Huge bucket of popcorn, doused in greasy, salty butter. . . Dean toweled off his face and hair, tossed the towel aside then stepped back into the bedroom.

Naked.

Esther looked up from the neat hospital corner she'd just made on the far side of the bed. "I heard the shower run—"

"Geez!" Dean made a grab for a pair of clean jeans that were neatly folded in a basket by the door.

"You forgot to bring up the laundry. If you get me your dirty clothes, I'll wash them next."

"Uh? Naked here." Dean said, covering his important parts with the jeans.

"You haven't got anything I haven't seen before." She went back to making the bed. "Of course, I've never seen it wrapped in such a tight and pretty package before. . . "

A warm flush filled Dean's cheeks as his brain debated whether to be complimented or creeped out. With her attention on the bed, he pulled on the jeans.

Esther picked up Sam's dinner plate. "He ate some. That's good."

"Yeah. He's feeling much better. I think we're out of the woods," but the words lacked the conviction he was hoping for.

"Soon," said Esther, then she headed for the door. "I've got pie for you. Not toting it up here though. You'll have to come sit at the table if you want a slice."

Dean laughed under his breath as he pulled on a clean t-shirt. He was wise to her plan but it was nice to know someone cared. A real mother-figure. It had been awhile since he'd had one. "I'll be down."

"And don't leave the wet towels on the floor. Hang 'em up over the rod when you're done."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean called to her retreating form.

Yes, it was nice to have a mother figure around – at least for a little while.

Sam showered, shaved then went straight back to bed wearing only a pair of sweatpants as pajamas. He claimed he was tired, even though he'd been sleeping for days, and even the promise of fresh pie couldn't get him to agree to go downstairs.

"You go," he said, snuggling down with a freshly laundered pillowcase under his head. "I want to sleep some more."

Dean was tempted to crawl into bed with his brother but then the smell of fresh apple pie hit his nose. The scent lit up his brain. That's how it had been since that fateful day. Hunger had possessed him at the most inopportune times. Not that Dean Winchester ever passed up on something sugary or fatty but this hunger came on like an earthquake and wouldn't be quelled until he wolfed down whatever his nose had picked up.

Visions of Castiel cramming cheeseburgers swam through his head. Hmm. Maybe Sam wasn't the only one who was fragmented.

"I won't be long." Dean left the room and took the stairs at a full gallop. Pie or die. That's what it felt like.

Weird.

It was happening all over again. Lucifer. Sam. The bloody battle. Dean felt as if his arms and legs were tied down but his brain said his body was up and walking around. It was like a riding a small plane through a thunderstorm and it didn't seem like it would ever end.

But then Sam was there. Calming him with soft sounds. Stroking his arm. Kissing his skin.

Everything's going to be alright.

A big hand moved lower then the warmth closed around him.

"No. Sammy,"

"I want to." The voice was butterflies in his ear. "I want to take care of you."

"That's my job."

"Not tonight." Lips closed over his.

Dean opened his eyes and Sam's hair caught him under the lashes making him blink and pull away.

"Wait. What?" Dean struggled to come fully back to reality.

"You don't have to protect me, Dean. I know what I'm doing. I know what I want.'

Sam's hand closed around him and that brought Dean back the rest of the way.

"Sammy. Stop. Listen to me."

"No. I know what you're going to say, but it's fine. Really. School's not working out like I thought it would. I don't fit in there. I shouldn't have gone. I shouldn't have left you. It's just that I didn't know. I didn't know we could have this." Sam's big palms flattened against Dean's cheeks, holding him steady for a soul sucking kiss.

It should have felt wrong but oddly it felt like the only right thing in the whole world. The two of them – they weren't like other people. Regular rules didn't apply. Not when you had dinner with demons and breakfast with the angels.

Dean allowed himself to be kissed. He allowed Sam to reposition him comfortably on the big pillow then he closed his eyes and felt it as Sam moved down the length of his body.

New Orleans.

It was the only time they had ever gone this far. Hell, gone further and Dean got hard just remembering that moment. That one moment before he'd realized they'd gone too far.

"Sammy." He brushed his hand through his brother's hair but there was no effort to redirect him or stop him from his quest. By the time he got there, Dean was aching. He arched up off the bed causing Sam to take more than he'd intended and that tiny stab of power brought Dean even closer to the edge.

Then Sam stopped and Dean's groan filled the room.

Sam laughed and it was so very sweet.

"Greedy," he said and it had this dirty edge to it that nearly finished him.

Sam threw the covers off then straddled Dean's hips. The sweatpants he'd worn to bed were gone and Dean thought he looked like a bronze statue all carefully sculpted and perfect. . . except for the bruises which had to hurt but Sam wasn't complaining. Not even when Dean's hands traced the line of marks on his ribs or dug into his thighs.

"Sam, this isn't-"

Sam cut him off with another kiss. Dean let it happen, gave it back, a little but his brain was working on something else. The way Sam was moving. With intent. With purpose. Positioning himself . . .

"No. Sammy. Stop."

"Why? I want this. I told you. It's okay."

"It's not okay." Dean sat up and twisted, dumping Sam off of him and back on to the bed. "This isn't what you want."

"But it's what you want."

"No. I. . . . " Dean rolled the other way, swung his legs over the bed and continued up to standing. "You don't understand. I wanted you to feel it. Not just do it because it makes me happy."

"But—"

"It's too important. Sammy. . . " Dean found his jeans on the floor. He pulled them on. "You're confused."

And he plainly was. Sam looked like he had those first couple of days after Jessica and after Madison. . . for Sam love always equaled pain and here was Dean heaping on even more.

"This_ isn't_ what you want," Sam said, the idea just dawning on him. "Not anymore. You don't want me anymore."

"No. Sam. Listen."

"I am listening. I hear you. In your voice. I've know I've done something terrible and now you can't stand to be with me-"

"No!" Dean snapped. He paced the length of the small room unable to get away from himself. "You're confused. New Orleans was years ago. It was one weekend and then you went back to school and that was it. Never again. Back to school and it was all forgotten."

"What? How could I forget what it felt like to be really and truly loved for the first time?"

"Because I made you forget." Dean pulled his hand across his mouth as if that could wipe away the years and years of lies. "I never should have done it, Sam. I shouldn't have taken you away from school. I shouldn't have pushed you into screwing around but just once. . just that once I wanted something to be about me. And that's selfish and horrible, I know. But you were gone and it was just me and dad and it was hard. So, so hard! I just wanted that memory. I didn't want you to give up school. Give up having a life. Maybe, I did at first but in the end, when you said that you would. When you said you'd stay with me forever – I knew it was a mistake."

"A mistake?"

"You had a shot at a life, Sammy! That picket fence life you always wanted. . . hell. . " Dean opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "The life I always wanted. I couldn't take that away from you. So I paid this hoodoo witch to erase your memory. I did things with her and everything I did with her you forgot and that was why you went back to school. Because it was just a fun weekend with your crazy big brother. Nothing more."

Sam raked his hand through his hair as he shook his head. "But I remember, Dean. I remember it like it was yesterday. How is that possible?"

"I don't know. Because of Lucifer I guess. He dug around in that head of yours and shook something loose, I guess. But it's not real. It's not who you are now. Who we are."

Sam stared down at his hands as he said, "it feels like it is. So why can't it be who we are?"

"Maybe it can – later. When we're settled. When -"

"What? When things get back to normal?" Sam laughed. "What's normal for us, Dean? How will I know when I'm normal again?"

When you're not craving demon blood. When you're not pulling demons with your mind. When you're not scaring the hell out of me.

"Just. . . not tonight, Sammy. You've been really sick and for all I know you're not even aware of what you're saying right now. Go back to sleep and we'll talk in the morning."

"But we won't. We never do."

True, but. . . "I'm sorry." Dean bent down to swipe his t-shirt off the floor, then left the room while he pulled it on.

"Where are you going?" Sam called.

"Just downstairs for some milk and. . . pie. She baked a pie. I'll be back up in a little bit." But he wouldn't be. He couldn't. Couldn't lay down next to Sam with that wonderful feeling still fresh in his mind. New Orleans had been the best day of his life but they'd both changed too much to go back there. Now all he could hope for was that Sam would go to sleep and forget it all. That by morning, he'd be the Sam he'd known for the past miserable year and that. . . made Dean feel very old and very tired.

# # #

Dean woke up to the sound of breaking glass. He jolted awake, ready for action, twenty plus years of survival training kicking in like a Ferrari going from zero to ninety. In an instant he took in his surroundings. Living room. Asleep on the couch. That meant there was no weapons under the pillow but no problem, he'd made do with less.

Next his mind opened up to what was in the vicinity. What it was that had roused him from his sleep.

Glass breaking.

Not demons coming in through a window, but Sam on his knees. A shard of glass in his hands, the remains of a shattered photo frame scattered around him.

"You lied to me."

Surely aimed at Dean but Sam's eyes went everywhere but.

"Sammy. We talked about this," Dean said evenly.

"Not that. This!" Sam snatched the slightly torn photo from the mess on the floor. It was a picture of Leah and her dad. "I killed her."

"No. A demon killed her."

"I killed her!" Sam tossed the photo toward Dean but it wafted to the ground just a few inches away. "I killed them all. How many, Dean? How many did I slaughter?"

Dean swallowed then took a breath, carefully thinking through the words he was about to say. "It wasn't you, Sammy. It was Lucifer." And even Lucifer hadn't killed Leah. That had happened weeks before but there was no sense in making that distinction.

"Why didn't you kill me?" Sam said the words so softly, Dean wasn't sure he'd heard him right.

"What?"

"Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance? A year ago. Two years ago. Left me in that house to burn, then Jessica would still be alive and Ellen and Jo and Dad. Dad." Sam drew the glass shard over his wrist. Blood welled up and overflowed around the edges of the cut.

"Sam. Don't." Dean reached for him but Sam got to his feet and backed away with unexpected speed.

"I should have done it myself years ago but I was a coward."

"No. Never cowardice. Hope, Sam. You had hope and you believed in me. You believed I could save you and I did. . . just not in time. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.' Dean took a step toward him but again Sam moved away. He bumped into a chair and nearly fell backward but righted himself even as Dean reached to help him.

"I trusted you," Sam said. "You promised me you wouldn't let me become a monster."

The blood was running freely down his arm now and when he let his hand fall to his side, droplets rained down on the rug.

"We have to stop that."

"Rivers of blood," said Sam. "I saw rivers of blood."

Dean had seen them too but he didn't want to remember. Didn't want that vision in his head. Of bloated bodies floating downstream like dead fish.

"Let me fix your arm and then we'll talk." Dean pulled off his t-shirt. "Please Sammy." He stepped forward again and again Sam countered, but this time there was no place to go. Sam hit the wall just to the left of a bank of windows, a corner to his right. Dean moved in fast, got his back to Sam's chest then pulled Sam's arm up under his own so he could wrap the t-shirt around the bleeding wound.

Sam could have pushed him off. It would have taken a little effort because Dean had himself well braced, but he could do it if he tried.

He didn't try.

Dean could feel heaving breaths against the back of his neck. "I did terrible things. Terrible things," Sam sobbed and Dean could relate. Those feelings from hell were still in there and so close to the surface. It didn't take much to recall in vivid detail how it felt, how it smelled, how it tasted to flail the skin from a beautiful young woman's body.

Dean squeezed Sam's arm harder as he pulled him away from the wall and guided him to an old, stuffed chair.

"Sit."

Sam complied. As Dean came around in front of him he saw Pastor Gideon in the doorway.

"Could you get me a first aid kit?"

Gideon nodded then left without a word.

Dean turned back to his brother. "We don't hurt ourselves, Sammy. I don't care what happened, what we've done, we made it through and that's punishment enough."

"You don't understand," Sam said, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "It's how I know."

"Know what?"

"That I'm in here." He tapped his fingers against his own chest. "When he was in here I felt everything but the pain." Sam peeled back the t-shirt exposing the wound to the air. "This hurts. That means I'm me. "

"Oh, god." Dean breathed out the words before a lump sealed his throat. He cupped Sam's face in his hand and wiped away a tear with his calloused thumb. In that instant Sam was five years old again. He's skinned his knee and he was sure he was going to die from the pain. Nine year-old Dean might have called him a baby for making such a fuss but he didn't. He cleaned the wound with alcohol and blew on it to make it better and bandaged it up, all the while telling Sam about this Three Stooges episode he'd seen the night before where the Stooges were scared of this ghost that was really an owl stuck in an old skull.

'_Then this frog goes down Shemp's pants and he does this crazy dance and there was a talking suit of armor. . . ya gotta see it, Sammy. It's really funny.'_

"Dean."

He turned to see Pastor Gideon holding out a plastic first aid kit.

"Do you need anything else?"

"No. We're good." Dean snapped open the box and fished through until he found an antiseptic wipe. He cleaned the wound with the wipe and Sam didn't even flinch.

"You must be so disappointed in me."

Dean hesitated as he swallowed back a lump in his throat. "No. Sammy. Never." He got a second wipe and used it to clean the tracks of blood. "I know I may have said somethings this past year. . . things I didn't really mean. But deep down, I know that everything you did, you did because you thought it was for the best."

Back to the first aid kit. A square of gauze and a roll of medical tape. Dean bandaged Sam's wound. One more time in a long list of times and again Dean hoped that this might be the last. Hoped, but didn't really believe.

"I remember riding in the backseat of the car a lot when I was little," Sam said out of the blue. "I remember you telling me stories to help pass the time."

"That's funny. I was just thinking about that."

"Three Stooges," said Sam and that made Dean sit back and say, 'huh.'

"I also remember being in the car once, just you and me during this huge storm. I thought the rain was going to bust the windows and the thunder scared me to death. But you told me not to worry. That the angels had overflowed the bathtub and the thunder was God yelling at them for making a mess."

Dean laughed. "I can see it now. Cas laying back in one of those old tubs with the feet, playing with his rubber duck. . . "

"Rubber duck," Sam echoed. "Yeah."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them for a moment then Dean broke it was a gravely throat-clearing as he got to his feet. "Enough of this." He collected up the bloody wipes and the paper wrapping from the bandage. He glanced around for a trashcan, didn't see one so he stuffed it all in the pocket of his jeans. "Let's get you back to bed."

Sam stood and headed for the stairs. Dean followed and together they trudged up the steps like two old men heading for the gallows.

Once in the bedroom, Sam fell into the bed on his back but his eyes locked on Dean who was still standing. "So what now?"

A simple question that could have meant so many different things. "We do what we always do, Sammy. We stick together and we make it through. "

The answer seemed to satisfy Sam, who pulled the covers up and rolled on to his side to sleep. Dean stared at the empty spot on the other side of the bed. He wanted with all his heart to lay down, to be that close to his brother, to feel that intense connection that he always felt when it was just the two of them against the world.

But New Orleans was still there and Sam was still confused and Dean wasn't sure he'd have the strength to stop if Sam went there again.

"Dean?" Sam glanced back over his shoulder, sleep already starting to pull him down. "Aren't you coming to bed?"

There were easy excuses why he wasn't, starting with having to clean up the broken glass in the living room before Esther got up and cut herself. But his mouth wouldn't say it and his feet wouldn't move.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm coming." Dean stripped off his shirt but left his jeans on. He laid down on the far side of the bed then rolled in to face his brother.

Sam was already asleep.

"I love you Sammy," Dean whispered then he laid there, awake for an hour, just watching his brother breathe.

# # #

Dean woke up in the passenger seat of the Impala. He twisted and stretched groaning as he worked the kinks out of his back. "Getting too old for this," he muttered.

"At least you got some sleep," Sam said from behind the wheel.

Dean glanced out at the setting sun, then checked his watch. He'd been asleep for six whole hours. That was the longest he'd gone since. . . well, since he didn't know when.

"Hey, pull over, will ya. I gotta pee."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Can you hold it for about five more minutes. There's a Shoney's at the next exit."

"Yeah, I guess. How you doing?"

"I'm fine. I went an hour ago at a gas station. I'm kinda surprised you didn't wake up when I stopped the car."

"That's not what I meant." And Sam knew it but they'd left all that stuff behind at Gideon's. Once they had climbed into the car and hit the road, Dean had declared it a brand new day. A chance to start over. To go back to the way things were six years ago.

It had been hard for Sam, that first day. There was so much destruction. Houses leveled, forests burned, and every restaurant and gas station was papered with missing posters. Hundreds of smiling faces staring back at them and Sam took every one of them personally. Every one of them had visited him in his dreams and that's why Dean hadn't gotten much sleep.

Dean had made it his mission to chase away the nightmares. So he kept himself awake with Red Bulls, coffee and candy, always on the alert and ready to wake his little brother at the slightest sign of distress. Three days of that on top of the mental and physical marathon that had been the last few months had left Dean non-functional. That became all too clear when he nodded off behind the wheel and let the Impala drift into oncoming traffic. Only a skilled driver and a loud horn had kept them from becoming a statistic and after that Sam insisted on taking the wheel.

Dean was given orders to sleep, or else.

Not that it took much coaxing. The nightmares couldn't get Sam while he was driving which meant it was okay for Dean to close his eyes.

"I've been thinking," said Sam.

"That's never good."

"I've been thinking about what you said. About you and me, going back to the way things used to be."

"Yeah," Dean said cautiously, not wanting to push that either way.

"I don't think we can go back. You said yourself that I'm not that snot-nose little kid anymore, I've grown up, right? So maybe it's time you let me make some decisions around here."

"What are you talking about, I let you pick the restaurant."

Sam took a quick left and then another, pulling into the empty parking lot of an office building that was closed on the weekends.

Dean sighed, knowing what was coming. A fight and he was in no mood. He was hungry, and stiff and he needed a bathroom and he just didn't want to get into this again. Not here. Not now.

"Sammy—"

"No. Listen." Sam shifted sideways in the car to face his brother. "My whole life, someone else has been in control. You, dad, Ruby, the demon blood, Lucifer. Each step worse than the next and I'm done. It's time for me to be in control of my own body. My own destiny."

"Okay, fine. Be in control. Nothing but vegan restaurants from now on-."

"Will you stop it!" Sam snapped. "Stop blowing this off like I'm being unreasonable or something. When the angels tried to control your destiny you hated it but I'm supposed to be fine with it when YOU make decisions for me. Big decisions, Dean. I'm not talking about where we eat or what music we play on the radio. I'm talking about our future. I'm talking about New Orleans."

That jolted Dean a little. Sam hadn't gone there since that night at Gideon's so Dean assumed that it had been forgotten in the jumble.

"I had to do it, Sam. I had to end it so you would go back to school. That was what was best for you and that's always been my place, to look out for you, and I don't care how old you are, I'll always feel the need to protect you. I can't help it."

"I know that," Sam said, bringing the volume down a notch. "But in this case, I think you were wrong. You have to let me choose, Dean. You have to let me fall down so I can learn to walk on my own. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"That I can't protect you from everything."

"That you don't need to protect me from you!" Sam reached out his hand but it fell short on to the bench seat between them. "I don't remember all of it but I do remember feeling like. . . like you do in a really good dream. That feeling where you don't want to wake up because it's too good to lose."

"Yeah," Dean said softly. "Exactly."

"You wake me up when I have nightmares and that's great. Don't force me to wake up from a nice dream. We're all we have left, Dean."

Dean filled his lungs, long and slow giving him a moment to sound out what he was about to say in his own head before making it real.

"It's up to you, Sam." Cut it off there. Sam, not Sammy. "Whatever you want to do, we'll do."

"Okay." Sam reached out again and awkwardly bumped his hand against Dean's leg.

This wasn't going to be as easy as just deciding - Dean knew it, but Sam would have to learn that on his own.

They got a room with two queens at the next motel but they only used one of them.

It's a brand new day.

The End


End file.
